


the comedown

by cdra



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Beelzebub has a weird fuckin' monster dick, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Gangbang, Humiliation, Kink Meme, Lucilius has a cunt, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pegging, Trans Male Character, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: GBF Kink Meme fill for this prompt:astrals/lucilius, gangbang, non con/dubiousthe astral council treats lucilius as their personal cum dumpster for one night solely as a means of humiliating him.bonus if cilius is drugged and delirious the entire time. extra bonus if he has a pussy
Relationships: Beelzebub/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	the comedown

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt was on some fucking galaxy brain level shit so of course I had to be incredibly fucking extra when filling it. Which is largey because my bubsfaa brainworms snuck in because god DAMN do I have some bubsfaa brainworms, and I have ever since I first hear Existence, lord. So really the first half of the fic is the fill, and the rest is just me having a good time.
> 
> That's about it. Enjoy.
> 
> Be safe, trans readers! Lucilius is ambiguously trans/gender-non-conforming in this fic and I call his parts things like cunt, pussy, and labia. I'm trans and I just think Lucilius having a cunt is neat (actually I think Lucilius is incredibly fuckin' nonbinary but that has nothing to do with anything here)

Around him, featureless white walls fade into the wobbling silhouettes of the council members; uncomfortably-warm numbness grasps Lucilius’s limbs, but he can feel how someone must be shifting his body from how his equilibrium tilts dizzily. His senses have all but left him, replaced by cotton-stuffed and near-useless imitations of the proper things—but if he grits his teeth and listens carefully, he can still make sense of the drivel they’re spilling.

“We’ve determined that you need to be brought down a few notches, that’s all. You seem to be letting your current post get to your head.” Despite how he can barely see, Lucilius musters a narrow glower to his steel-colored eyes—even if his tongue weren’t thick and useless in his mouth from whatever drug the council’s shot into his veins, he likely wouldn’t speak his piece, but his pride is not so flimsy as to let him feign _complete_ complacency.

“Oh? Looks like he already can’t talk back,” a different voice trills, distorted and warbling. “The dose was probably too high for someone his size, but… well, whatever.” His knees hit the floor and his gut spins; someone’s fingers grasp his chin and force him to look upward, albeit near-blindly, and another set of hands (or two? three?) hold his arms up behind his back. “Can’t have you biting—and I certainly wouldn’t put it past you.”

He’s right about that, this no-name, faceless shadow of a councilman—given the chance, Lucilius would definitely consider chomping down on the thumb that forces its way into his mouth. The unpleasant, salty taste of skin coats his tongue, and drool inadvertently drips onto his chin. Black enshrouds his vision in the form of a cloth tied around his eyes, but it hardly impacts his addled perceptions. Chatter and laughter mix together and float meaninglessly through the fog; disgusted, but far from truly _upset_ , Lucilius merely steels himself for whatever it is he must endure.

There’s a brusque sound of someone clearing their throat, and then another finger prying his jaw open wide; Lucilius huffs and snarls, but all he gets in response is a laugh and something much _harder_ than a finger being shoved into his mouth. No genius intellect would be required to determine what it is—the thick, bitter scent of precum and sweat is hard to mistake for anything else. “Don’t gag on it, now,” a voice from somewhere taunts, and Lucilius struggles not to do just that as a hand grabs his hair and pulls him forward so that the cock slams into the back of his throat.

Fighting will make this more difficult for _him_ , Lucilius silently reminds himself—especially in this drunken state, he’s likely to end up all the worse for wear if he resists. Heavy breathing echoes above him as the councilman who’s taken his mouth rocks his hips, steadily fucking his throat and forcing Lucilius’s tongue flat. Hands seem to come from every direction and tug at his robes; he squirms at the touch. His breath grows harsh, laden with low, growling sounds, but he can do little other than allow his pale skin to be stripped bare and his slender arms tied behind his back.

His chest prickles with the sensation of long fingernails scraping along his skin; the uneven warmth of a pair of breasts presses against his back. “Hehe, honestly, I bet you wanted something like this to happen,” a fang-laden, feminine voice hisses against his ear, “I mean, you made that foul-mouthed beast, after all.” She—the person behind him—lifts his hips and all but pushes him off balance; Lucilius nearly chokes from how the other man’s cock gets forced down his throat in the process. “So I bet your cunt’s all ready to take me straight away, huh?”

All he can do is take it—the degradation, the pressure in his throat, the way her lube-slick artificial cock (it’s too smooth to be the real thing—almost certainly a toy) grinds against his labia insinuatingly—infuriating as that is, Lucilius knows it. There’s a gargling sound that seems to come from his very lungs as the councilman grips his hair tighter yet, and the councilwoman’s nails dig into the soft flesh beside his hip bones. He can barely breathe, but he barely needs to—and Lucilius knows they aren’t trying to _kill_ him, because they simply _can’t,_ so he crushes the instinctive fear that comes from asphyxia before it blooms.

She slams into him with a laugh, and indeed, he takes it more easily than he’d like—his pussy twitches and clenches up, heated by the drugs in his system. Lucilius digs his nails into his palms, but it does nothing to clear his mind; the sensations are too many, too much, and they assault his mind as the council members assault his body. He hears muttering, whispering, a banter of plans being made just beyond where his ears can hear and process words—but he’s far more occupied by the way the prick in his mouth throbs and stark-tasting precum spills onto his tongue, and the steady rhythm of the toy that’s violating his cunt deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“Oi, you paying attention? You better swallow,” the man’s gruff voice says, oddly clear in Lucilius’s ringing ears. “Or it’ll get everywhere—or are you into getting all gross, despite being such a neat freak?”

It’s more like he doesn’t get a _choice_ , of course—cum pumps into the back of his throat, and Lucilius _has_ to swallow just to keep from choking. Though, it doesn’t stop the fluid from dripping from the corners of his mouth, hot and sticky, with how his body’s jostled with each slap of the woman’s hips against his ass as she mercilessly rails him.

The man in his mouth pulls away, leaving a trail of spit and seed between Lucilius’s lips and his cock, and Lucilius’s world spins again as he falls face-first onto the cold tiles of the floor. The woman fucking him doesn’t let up yet, even as she drives him into the ground with each motion—but after a moment more, he hears her moan as she buries her strap-on deep inside him and grinds hard against his hips, riding out her climax.

“Hey, no fair, you could go all night with that thing,” says another voice, unclear and distant. “Give someone else a turn!” There’s some bickering, but it doesn’t register amid the haze; the chill against his back tells Lucilius that he’s been flipped over, though. Someone forces his legs apart, and despite not being able to see he can feel the sting of exposure as his cunt’s spread out for all to see.

“Huh… pretty pussy for such a weirdo,” a voice observes, fingertips pressing Lucilius’s lower lips apart. “Kind of a shame, honestly—oh well. Might as well enjoy it, eh?” Lucilius keeps his face turned to the side, though of course it wouldn’t matter which way he looked when the blindfold’s blocking his vision, and gasps quietly in an attempt to steady his still-stinging lungs. Even if he _wanted_ to respond, somehow, he can’t keep his senses straight long enough—and maybe it’s better that he doesn’t bother, anyway.

The man grumbles something before unceremoniously plunging his cock into Lucilius’s exposed slit—compared to the toy before, it’s _hot_ , a sensation different enough that Lucilius’s hands twitch behind his back and his breath catches in a flurry of sharp gasps. “Oh, now _that’s_ more like it,” he hears vaguely as the man starts to move, and the sensations once more begin to blur into a drunken mess of heat and friction and aching and carnality that’s all but _infuriatingly_ meaningless.

Utterly pointless—they won’t achieve anything from this, except perhaps their own satisfaction. Lucilius supposes that’s all that matters to them, though.

The minutes blur in sticky heat and the wet slapping of flesh, in the scent of sweat and cum and the garbled mumbling of far-away voices with nothing to say—Lucilius barely notices when he’s flipped and adjusted so that someone’s fingers can jam their way into his asshole, carelessly and callously stretching at his tight rim. Oddly, amid everything else, even that strange sensation becomes little more than an ember, simply another drunken spectre of this madness.

Soon enough there are two cocks filling him in uneven rhythms, taking both his front and his back, and he doesn’t know if either of them is one he’s had before or if they’re new—but he knows there’s a mess of fluid clinging to his thighs, a mixture of his own and not. His limbs are going numb, limp and doll-like in how he can’t quite feel or control them at all. “Hey, he feels better than I thought he would.” Lucilius’s arms wriggle in their binds, blindly and futilely seeking a way to stabilize the imbalance of being so held between two bodies. “I almost thought someone so bizarre would be made of sandpaper inside, but this isn’t too bad.”

He’s just here for their entertainment—what a waste of everyone’s time, he thinks distantly. At some point in the inconsistent flow of time, his chin’s gotten covered in drool and his skin’s become slick with sweat; the painful friction and forceful pleasure is unending, grating at his nerves and leaving him raw. The few seconds where no one’s fucking his throat or his ass or his cunt are hardly a relief, just a flicker of stinging-cold air snatched while drowning in a sea of absurd, mind-scorching heat.

“Wow, you’re still pretty tight, somehow,” comes another unnecessary comment, paired with yet another prick spreading Lucilius’s white-filled cunt open as he breathlessly groans. “Hah! Mister high-and-mighty Lucilius being such a slut is a welcome surprise.” He can barely understand the insults slung at him, but he grinds his teeth together anyway, even though it’s far from a threat when his form’s all but listless and even his face is stained with cum.

Eventually, it ends. It’s not so much a sudden awakening as a slow drop into awareness; Lucilius finds that he’s face down and his arms aren’t tied, and that he can feel his extremities, including all the tiredness that weighs them down. He’s not moving—because no one’s moving him, and there’s no way he could move on his own just yet—except to breathe in low, long gasps, and for a moment, he merely stays like that, waiting, wondering if they’re truly done with him.

Of course not, he thinks when he hears a dark chuckle above him—but it’s a little more familiar than the other voices, distorted as it is. “How pathetic,” the familiar voice says, part amused and part disgusted. “Seeing you in such shambles is difficult to fathom, Lucilius.”

Lucilius narrows his eyes beneath the blindfold, clawing for the scattered pieces of his consciousness. As it turns out, he doesn’t need to think too hard—the owner of the voice grabs his hair and lifts his head from the ground, then swiftly undoes the cloth that’s been blocking his vision.

“Beelzebub,” Lucilius utters hoarsely, unsurprised by his “co-conspirator”’s presence; why should he be? There is no trust between them, no affection—only a mutual disdain for the world, and a one-sided debt that will be honored by pride alone. Indeed, surely Beelzebub, perhaps more than anyone else on the council, would lunge at the chance to see Lucilius brought to heel.

The large man gives a thoughtful hum, crimson gaze drinking in Lucilius’s state. Pale fingers twitch weakly and scrape against the floor, still defiant and unbroken despite the stains and marks that litter his body. For a moment, Beelzebub’s eyes linger on the red, swollen spots along Lucilius’s collarbone—perhaps it’s a trick of his still-hazy vision, but Lucilius thinks he sees the general’s brow furrow. But, it doesn’t last.

Beelzebub grins like a cat with a canary in his grasp—a rather dangerous and crafty canary, at that. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you can somehow still speak—no amount of anesthetic could _truly_ dampen that mind of yours, could it?” And yet, his tone is as haughty as ever—he’s in his element, and Lucilius is already worn raw. What an irksome turn of the tables, even if this is hardly a contest of any sort.

As if Lucilius is merely a sack of cloth in his hands, Beelzebub lifts the smaller astral into his lap; Lucilius growls, but he hasn’t the strength to do anything but fall limp into Beelzebub’s chest. There’s no reprieve to be found here—certainly not when Lucilius can feel Beelzebub’s erection against his stomach, hot and ready and _obscenely_ large. The primal core had to have affected that part of him, too—though that would only account for the ridges, the grotesque and monstrous shape of the thing, not for the initial size it must have built on.

But before Lucilius can consider complaining, Beelzebub’s fingers wrap around the back of his neck, holding him tight and still, and the premonition of something bad to come hits a moment too late—Lucilius bites back a yelp as something sharp sticks into his veins. 

Lucilius’s pupils dilate, suddenly alert, and he grits his teeth in discomfort and rage. “What did you— _why?!”_ he hisses as he frantically digs his nails into Beelzebub’s robes. Another drug to counter the first, he’s quickly made aware of that much by his body’s response—the fog around his mind is clearing rapidly, and his heart is pounding wildly despite the exhaustion in his muscles. His skin itches with heat, and his cunt throbs with need; overworked as his flesh is, the sudden shift in sensation is nothing short of painful, and yet the unnatural arousal takes root even so.

A sickening laugh drips from Beelzebub’s lips, all pride and no mercy. “Isn’t that obvious? So that you will _remember_ this.” Beelzebub’s claws dig into the small of Lucilius’s back as he pushes him down onto his cock—the sensation shoots through his burnt-out nerves like lightning, and Lucilius has to choke back an ungainly sob as he’s forced to take Beelzebub’s unreasonable girth. “There would be little sense in fucking you mad if I somehow blended in with the rest of the rabble you’ve taken tonight.” His voice buzzes with a dark heat, pleased with itself; Lucilius merely sees stars.

This may well be worse than the delirium—Lucilius can still hardly think, but now more for the assault of sensations on his acutely-awake mind, the electric combination of overstimulating pleasure and pain, but now he can’t seem to keep _quiet_. His gasps come sharper, irksomely mixed with other noises, as Beelzebub bounces his slim hips atop his brutally huge cock, intent to stretch Lucilius to his limit with each thrust.

“This monstrous cock is precisely to your tastes, isn’t it?” he asks without seeking an answer, voice crackling with amusement and pleasure. But then, his nails dig into Lucilius’s ribs as he leans close to Lucilius’s ear, and he sneers lowly: “Do all of your beasts have such a lascivious quirk, Lucilius? Or, did you only put that in the core you gave to _me? "_

Lucilius bares his teeth and tries his damnedest to stem the uneven whimpers that his throat keeps allowing—but it doesn’t help much when Beelzebub’s fangs dig into his shoulder and everything seems to go white. Before denying any of Beelzebub’s accusations, he’d first like to deny that his body’s fallen prey to such a simple tactic as an aphrodisiac—but the way his flesh twitches and seizes, there’s little denying anything.

“Oh?” Beezlebub purrs against Lucilius’s neck and licks his lips; for just a moment, he slows his thrusts to a lazy pace. “You’re gripping my cock so eagerly—did you _come_ , after all of that?” He knows, of course he does, infuriating as it is—Lucilius doesn’t answer, instead trying to catch his breath, but his lack of answer speaks for itself.

“Naturally, none of the others could even _compare_ to me,” Beelzebub states like it’s the most obvious of facts, “You should be _thankful_ that I’m the only one you’ll recall, in the end.” Just like that, he shoves Lucilius onto his back; Lucilius gives an annoyed little yowl as he falls, still trembling, and is all-too-easily held down by Beelzebub’s sheer strength.

Lucilius manages to hiss, _“bastard—”_ before Beelzebub slams into him again and makes a mess of his head and body in one motion. He’s right about one thing: this is nothing like any of the others, the faceless forms fucking him and violating his body in a haze. No, this is far worse, like how sleep paralysis is far more poignant than a nightmare; despite that, his body still finds _pleasure_ amid the electric numbness and overstimulation. Maybe that’s the worst part, actually.

Beelzebub bites him again, and again, right where someone else had surely done before, and Lucilius’s teeth find something unexpected to sink themselves into as well—something hard and earthy-tasting, which Lucilius realizes with a choked noise is one of Beelzebub’s _other_ limbs, now holding Lucilius’s tongue down.

“These are more convenient than I’d originally thought,” Beelzebub laughs breathily, his tone almost _mocking_ in how satisfied it is. Lucilius’s vision blurs again, bleeding into static at the edges, but it’s different this time—this is the white noise of sheer exhaustion, not of a drug creeping through his system. His eyes go dull and saliva drips down his chin again—and yet, the heat in his gut only swells.

Above him, Beelzebub clicks his tongue. “Have you reached your limit already?” He grabs Lucilius’s leg and spreads his pale hips wider so he can thrust in deeper yet, and drinks in how Lucilius’s breath catches hard in response. “Disappointing—I’ve got plenty of stamina to spare…” Beelzebub grinds deep into Lucilius’s cunt, intentionally pressing his buttons—it doesn’t take much more to wring another shuddering, numbing sort of orgasm from his overworked flesh.

The sound of Beelzebub’s arrogant laughter and the heat of his hips still moving blends into the white noise; Lucilius lets his eyes slip halfway closed, but his heart keeps thumping away in his ribs, tired yet unable to steady itself. His body’s strength is gone, and with it his ability to remain conscious—but even so, the throbbing heat inside of him doesn’t pass, carrying on even as his awareness slips away.

“Hmph, fine—I’ll ensure that your body remembers me all the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> I lied the thing about my headcanon that Lucilius is nonbinary made this a little hard to write because I habitually use they/them pronouns for Lucilius and that kept happening while I was writing this but I THINK I fixed all of those slip-ups aha


End file.
